


a devil put aside for me

by coffeewithcream



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), First Kiss, Forbidden Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-06 15:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20293612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeewithcream/pseuds/coffeewithcream
Summary: Crowley’s knack for making his presence tangible in every inch of the bookshop during his visits never went unnoticed by Aziraphale.When the bookshop first opened, it was Crowley’s hat. Although he wouldn’t be caught discoperated in an accessory that had went out of style years ago, Crowley never really enjoyed hats. Sure, he wore them out in public, but once the coast was clear for removal, the hat was as good as history. The hat was the beginning of an ever-growing collection of varying sizes of ties, more pairs of sunglasses all with as many styles as humanity thought of, and one silk lined blazer as a result of a night of a little too much wine and not enough air conditioning.It wasn’t just material objects that made Crowley’s presence known to Aziraphale, it was his designer cologne, his mumbled cursing under his breath, the shifting of the crochet blanket Aziraphale sneakily draped over Crowley’s sleeping form on the couch.But today, it was his humming.





	1. spare him his life from this monstrosity

The first time Aziraphale heard it was in 1977. All things considered; the day was otherwise very normal. Aziraphale had been in the process of categorizing his first edition copies of 18th-19th century French love poems (it had been a slow day in the bookshop) when the door opened with its familiar ding followed by uneven footsteps. Although the footsteps sounded clunkier than usual, he knew that cadence better than he knew his own reflection. He climbed down from his old, rickety ladder and turned the corner to find none other than Crowley casually strolling about in the lobby. Luckily for Aziraphale’s sake, if it had not been the rhythm of his saunter and the faint scent of cinnamon and sulfur entering the atmosphere, he would not have recognized the demon. Granted, it had been over a decade since they last spoke and Crowley was known for keeping up with fashion fads, but what on Earth was that Satan-forsaken mustache? Nevertheless, Aziraphale tried to quell the fluttering feeling growing in the pit of his stomach and greet his old acquaintance.

“Crowley? What a pleasant surprise, it’s been-”

“Ten years, yes,” his gaze not quite meeting Aziraphale.

A small pang hit in Aziraphale’s chest, but he pressed on. “Ah, yes. I’m aware. So terribly sorry on my account.”

He could almost see Crowley reliving their last encounter. The parked Bentley sheltered from the nightlife of the Soho streets. Purple light emitting from the lewd neon signs illuminating both of their faces. The lingering brush of their fingers as they passed the holy equivalent of an atomic bomb between their shaking bodies. The hurt in both of their voices as they begged and denied each other the universe’s most unspeakable question. The revisit only lasted for a second, but Aziraphale still lived every moment.

“S’alright,” Crowley paced, turning his back to the angel. “Nothing of utter importance happened.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow. “Until today? That is?”

Crowley’s platform boots skidded to a stop (good gracious, Aziraphale hoped this trend ends swiftly) and he finally met the angel’s stare through his shades. “I’ve just had a bad day at work, that’s all.” “Ah,” Aziraphale sighed, realizing that ‘work’ meant business down below. He didn’t mention forgetting their eternal duties and purpose on Earth for only a few off-color seconds after Crowley had become his center of attention.

“Tea, perhaps?”

Crowley hesitated. His whole body seemed tense, and Aziraphale could see his eyebrows reappear and disappear behind his thick frames several times. He looked unmovable. Like his exterior was made up of bricks to protect whatever he was hiding behind those retched sunglasses. Aziraphale’s eyes flitted down to his joined hands and offered an apologetic smile. And then, just like that, somehow Crowley moved.

“Yeah, tea’s fine.”

Aziraphale turned the corner to put the kettle on, trying to hide his triumphant smile within the hallway walls.

“Angel,” Crowley called, the upholstery of the couch squeaking as he kicked off his platform boots, “None of that fancy stuff! I like my tea-”

“Black, yes, I’m quite aware, my dear boy.”

*

Crowley’s knack for making his presence tangible in every inch of the bookshop during his visits never went unnoticed by Aziraphale.

When the bookshop first opened, it was Crowley’s hat. Although he wouldn’t be caught discoperated in an accessory that had went out of style years ago, Crowley never really enjoyed hats. Sure, he wore them out in public, but once the coast was clear for removal, the hat was as good as history. The hat was the beginning of an ever-growing collection of varying sizes of ties, more pairs of sunglasses all with as many styles as humanity thought of, and one silk lined blazer as a result of a night of a little too much wine and not enough air conditioning.

It wasn’t just material objects that made Crowley’s presence known to Aziraphale, it was his designer cologne, his mumbled cursing under his breath, the shifting of the crochet blanket Aziraphale sneakily draped over Crowley’s sleeping form on the couch.

But today, it was his humming.

Between the two of them, Aziraphale was the one immortal supernatural being more likely to ever be caught mindlessly humming. But that was it, wasn’t it? Crowley never mindlessly did anything. Everything was calculated. His appearance, his choice of words, his outlandish schemes for temptations. Despite that, here he was, pacing along the isles of bookshelves, running his fingers along the spines as he walked, humming. Perhaps that was why Aziraphale forgot his hand was overtop an open flame.

“Agh,” he shook his burning fingertips and the flame dissolved.

He set the kettle down on the counter and quickly healed the blistering flesh as quietly as possible. He could hear a slight hiccup in the rhythm of Crowley’s mysterious melody, but it picked up as soon as it stopped.

And it didn’t stop the whole week Crowley ended up staying.

Aziraphale mostly let him be, he was afraid that if he started interacting with Crowley all too much that the tune would halt, and he would never hear it again. Throughout the next several days, he went through every composition that he knew in his head and nothing matched. He was certain that it couldn’t be a new bebop or disco tune that the humans found amusing these days, it was too hauntingly beautiful for that. Not that Crowley’s voice was beautiful, by any means. Crowley’s singing (humming, rather) voice wasn’t anything special, but it was pleasant, nonetheless. Anyway, the song was horribly melancholy and Aziraphale couldn’t help but to think that if Crowley still had a soul, that it would mirror the song’s emotion perfectly. It sounded like a siren for the deeply regretful, the eternally hurt, the ones that feel like they’re too much of one thing and not enough of another.

Which is why Aziraphale missed it when Crowley took it with him at the end of his stay.

He tried desperately to get his racing mind off it, he didn’t want Head Office to find out that his thoughts had been taken over by a demon’s swan song. He attempted to sit down and curl up with one of his favorite handwritten Shakespeare sonnet collections that the bard himself gave to the angel as a gift, but no such luck. He then tried pacing, perhaps his mind could catch up with his feet and cancel one another out. Again, no such luck.

The pacing only lead to a corner of the bookshop that had been unused for years. A dusty mahogany practice piano stood lonely alongside a stack of sheet music that had been untouched for decades, if not centuries. Upon the rediscovery of his once beloved musical instrument, the melody in his head became a symphony. Flashes of the memories Aziraphale associated with the piano lit up before him. The excitement of the first inspection of the instrument around the time it was first invented, the joy of handing over money to the manufacturers after it had been installed into the bookshop, the nervous giddiness of playing the first song he learned to Crowley’s listening ears.

A combination of those memories and emotions along with that incessant tune drew him to trace his fingers along the ivory keys.

“I wonder,” Aziraphale whispered to himself curiously.

Although angels did not dance, they most definitely had a sense of perfect pitch. How else were they supposed to sing their celestial praises to the Almighty above? Aziraphale’s right hand hovered over a B flat key and gently pressed down. Yes, that sounded about right. Good start. And what if he-

“Da,” _F_.

“Da dum,” _B flat up an octave, D_.

“Bum, ba” _A, F sharp. _

“Astonishing,” Aziraphale breathed. He smiled to himself.

Looks like his magic act was going to have to be neglected for quite some time.


	2. carry on as if nothing really matters

The next time Aziraphale heard it was in 1995. Him and Crowley had just departed from their lunch at brand new café that had just opened a 40-minute drive away. Aziraphale had a slice of lemon pound cake and a new drink called a Frappuccino. Aziraphale delighted in the sugary blend of coffee and chocolate topped with whipped cream, but when he let Crowley have a taste, he shuddered and proclaimed that it would never take off. Aziraphale had brushed him off and the small talk resumed as Crowley occasionally sipped his black coffee. They had discussed their newest assignments from their respective head offices, going back and forth about whether it was a situation where the Arrangement was to be utilized. Before they knew it, their afternoon lunch had become an evening snack. With the eyes of the barista glaring at them, they finally left their table and loaded into the Bentley, not rushing but not intentionally taking their time.

The café was not in in a terribly crowded city, so there was quite a stretch of countryside before reaching the bumbling city of London. Aziraphale would have to put a pin in that quaint little town for a later visit. Tadfield, was it? Nevertheless, the angel and the demon were sharing a comfortable silence that they had long since grown accustomed to when a new song melted into the speakers.

_ “Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?”_

What an odd choice for a song opening, Aziraphale thought. He couldn’t brush the feeling of familiarity as the song played on, despite the fact that he was quite certain that he had never heard it. There were no backing instrumentals, but the harmonies amongst the vocalists were mesmerizing. Aziraphale glanced over to Crowley, where he was shocked to find a contented smile dancing on his lips. Behind his square sunglasses, his eyes seemed to drift off into a distant memory, a somber one. Aziraphale could have let his gaze wonder just this one time for much longer if it were not for the earth halting transition in the music.

_B flat, F, B flat up an octave, D, A, F sharp._

And suddenly words were given to the melody that Aziraphale’s fingers had memorized almost twenty years earlier. The words didn’t diminish the song like Aziraphale found they do most of the time, they enhanced the chillingly gorgeous accompaniment. Aziraphale shivered, instantly being taken back to the day that Crowley had strolled into the bookshop a decade after Aziraphale was certain that he would be the end of his dear friend. He must have been staring for too long because Crowley’s snapping fingers brought him back into reality.

“Oi, angel,” He quipped.

Aziraphale blinked, even though he didn’t need to. “Yes?

” “I said,” Crowley stressed, “s’everything alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“W-Why,” Aziraphale stalled, “that’s just preposterous. You know as well as I do that ghosts do not exist and are merely an idea that humans-”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. It’s an expression.”

“Right,” Aziraphale breathed through a laugh, “Of course. Silly me.”

The silence turned uncomfortable.

“So?”

“So, what?”

“Is everything alright?”

Aziraphale should have said no. Aziraphale should have awkwardly tried to blame his incredulous gaze on some poor newborn creature abandoned in the middle of the field by its mother. He should have let Crowley not believe a word that he was saying but forget about the whole deal for the angel’s sake. He should have just let the whole situation blow over, but instead he said-

“What is this song?”

Crowley’s mouth dropped, and he let out an exasperated chuckle. He shook his head, his red waves bouncing with his laugh. Aziraphale eased up slightly, seeing Crowley so amused by a question that rested so heavily on his shoulders.

“That’s what you’re all worked up about? It’s Bohemian Rhapsody, of course.” Crowley chuckled.

“Bohemian?”

The tone of Aziraphale’s voice dripped with a far more old-fashioned definition of bohemian. He thought of when he first heard of the term, then called boheme, in a 19th century French tavern where he had been assigned to perform a few minor blessings (and to sample the wine.) The patrons of the tavern had said the words as though they were trying to get a bad taste out of their mouths. They called them the scum of society, artistic beings willing to starve just to get a message across to the conventional. Aziraphale didn’t think that sounded so bad, and he later learned that Crowley didn’t either. After all, he had found him amongst them in an alleyway near discorparation from starvation.

“No, not that kind of-well...a little bit but that’s beside the point. You actually like this?”

_Well, my dear boy, it’s the only song I have thought about for the past twenty years, so yes, I do rather enjoy it_, Aziraphale thought.

“It’s quite alright, I suppose.”

Crowley smirked in the way only Crowley can, lips curling upward into a sinister smile. Aziraphale hardly ever saw Crowley smile, and it was a good thing that he didn’t because every time he did there was a hard reminder that Crowley was once an angel. He ducked his head and looked at Aziraphale overtop his thick black frames, gleaming yellow eyes devious and amused. Aziraphale could swear on the holy book that those yellow eyes could see straight through his soul, and perhaps they could on some humans. For whatever reason though, they didn’t today. He scoffed and turned his head towards his side window. He smiled once more to no one in particular (but to Aziraphale, since he was still glued to Crowley) and shifted in his seat causing the chains on his pants to jingle (yet another dreadful trend that Aziraphale hoped would end soon.)

“Quite alright,” Crowley muttered, “I just didn’t think that this was your style.”

“Well, I’m catching up to more things as the times go on.”

For some odd reason, Crowley’s smile faltered. The mechanics in Crowley’s head seemed to be working overtime and Aziraphale was more confused than anything. Crowley cocked his head sideways and then turned to Aziraphale once again, doing a full once over of the angel. Had he gotten crumbs all over his waistcoat again?

“Huh,” Crowley said.

The speed of the car slowed down ever so slightly and Crowley did something that Aziraphale thought he would never witness again.

He hummed along.

Sometimes lyrically, sometimes wordlessly.

Only it didn’t sound as melancholy this time around.

*

Later that day, Aziraphale burst through the doors of a record store, something that was getting more and more difficult to come across these days. He wafted the cigarette smoke from his face and walked up to the counter clerk, greeting her with a nervous smile. Her long, teased blue-black hair hung dangerously close to the lit cigarette as she fiddled with the thick false eyelash barely hanging onto her eyelid, smudging her dark makeup even more. Her disregard for her basic well being reminded him pf someone else he knew. Perhaps someone who he had just spent the afternoon with.

“Hello,” he practically sing-songed, “I think I require your assistance. I am looking for a record.”

“Well, you’re in a record store so you’ve made a good start.” She deadpanned.

“Ah, yes,” Aziraphale laid his hands on the edge of the counter. “I was wondering if you had Bohemian Rhapsody. Composed by, er, The Queen? Perhaps co-composed by a Mr. Mercury?”

The store clerk blinked at him and put out her cigarette in the red ashtray by the register. “I think you’re a couple decades too late. Pretty sure that’s the record my mum and dad boned to when they made me.”

Aziraphale flushed, flabbergasted. Humans were apt to say just anything these days.

“Well there is no need for that kind of language, young madame. I just need to know if you have it. It’s quite urgent.”

“What could be so urgent about a Queen record?” She raised her half-shaven eyebrows.

Aziraphale huffed. While he was ultimately a being of love and had reverence for all humans, they sure could be awfully annoying. He could easily miracle up a record, and he would avoid all of this nonsense. However, he could more easily explain to Heaven miracling up a few pounds rather than a double-sided record with the mention of the Prince of Hell in the lyrics. Also, it just sounded better when the humans make it.

“Could you please,” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth, “just see if you have it.”

The store clerk rolled her eyes and reluctantly rose up from her chair.

“I think we might have a copy in the back. Don’t steal anything while I’m gone.”

Aziraphale was just about to go into a spiel about how he couldn’t possibly steal, it was unholy of him and he has only committed theft a few times for Crowley, but she had already disappeared behind spray painted doors. He nervously tapped on the counter with his fingertips, checking over hos shoulder. This place looked an awfully lot like somewhere Crowley would lurk. Aziraphale knew that if he was caught in here buying a bebop record it would take centuries-if not a millennium to live down.

When she returned with the record, he blessed her with a better outlook on life and tempted her to give up smoking before he rushed out onto the street.

Once he was back in his bookshop, he suddenly was overcome with reluctance. He stood gingerly over the record player that he had finally given into purchasing in the 1940’s and held the paper album cover like it was made of fine glass. Emotions were not difficult for Aziraphale to tune himself into, in fact, his problem was the opposite. He felt so many things all at once all the time, being an entity of love. He felt the guilt of that night in the Bentley, he felt the hurt deeply hidden behind Crowley’s eyes today on the way home, and he felt the worry and panic of what he might set loose if he were to relive the song with all of those feelings fresh in his memory.

But most of all, he felt curiosity.

Before he could change his mind, he lifted the stylus of the record player and placed the record beneath it. He quickly sat down on his favorite armchair and folded his hands over his lap. The strange prologue played once again, and for a moment Aziraphale was amused. Humans could be so silly, pondering of their relevance to the universe. For a moment, Aziraphale envied their ignorance. Sometimes he wished to not know everything, to not outlive the generations upon generations of humans, to not have such divine power with such strict limitations.

An image of a tartan thermos flashed before his eyes.

He shut his eyes and focused on the song. The brilliant piano accompaniment felt like a familiar old friend, bringing him comfort but still having an element of surprise to them. Aziraphale tapped his intertwined fingers along his hands along as if he were playing the tune himself. Soon, Mr. Mercury’s smooth vocals entered the atmosphere and Aziraphale was enraptured. Though he could never understand the appeal of modern rock music, even he knew that Mr. Mercury was an exception. When the Bentley (or Crowley, Aziraphale really didn’t know at this point) had decided that his music was the only music allowed, Aziraphale couldn’t say he was bothered. He even silently grieved along with Crowley four years ago when he had passed. Although Crowley’s grief was best expressed though copious amounts of alcohol.

And there Crowley was again, in his thoughts. Aziraphale wondered if he could ever be able to properly listen to the song without the demon entering his stream of consciousness.

_ Too late, my time has come_

_ Send shivers down my spine_

_ Body’s aching all the time_

_ Goodbye everybody, I’ve got to go _

_Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth_

_ Mama, ooh I don’t wanna die_

_ I sometimes wish I’d never been born at all _

Apparently not.

Aziraphale opened his eyes to find that they had become wet with tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was so emo writing this


	3. any way the wind blows

Nights like these were becoming more common, not that Aziraphale had particularly minded. He was currently on his fifth bottle of wine while Crowley had started his seventh. Or was it his eighth? Aziraphale wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was that he and Crowley were indefinitely drunk, and the world was still definitely not ended. It had been almost two months since the Apocalypse was averted, and two months since he and his closest ally had averted death. It was a cool autumn night, and the rain in Soho was more soothing than annoying for once. More importantly, it was Friday night. Friday night had become Wine Night for Aziraphale and Crowley. It started the weekend after the very last day of the rest of their lives when Crowley burst through the door with two bottles in hand saying, “Well angel, we’ve lasted almost a week and our respective offices haven’t caught on so I say that’s cause for celebration.” To which Aziraphale responded, “But, dear boy, didn’t we just have dinner last night?” And Crowley made an assortment of noises that eventually turned into, “It’s Château d'Yquem.” Aziraphale didn’t argue much more after that.

And then Crowley came in the next week. And the week after that. Which turned into Crowley staying one Friday and then staying until the next Friday rolled around.

Which was the situation that they were in right now. Crowley had been there for three weeks now. Here he was, pacing around the back room of the bookshop carrying on about some off-hand topic that Aziraphale had mentioned almost 45 minutes ago. Aziraphale sat in his armchair with half-lidded eyes nodding his head and adding an occasional comment to the conversations. But mostly, he was just watching.

Watching Crowley had always been fascinating to him. The way he sauntered his hips, his center of gravity swaying against the Earth. Aziraphale wondered if anyone had ever told him that a woman’s center of gravity belonged in her hips, and a man’s in his chest. Though, he doubted Crowley even cared about that. His legs were always all over the place. It was like he didn’t really even know how to use them properly. Comes from your true form being a snake, most likely. He liked watching Crowley’s mind work faster than his mouth, stumbling over most of his words but getting the message across anyway. He liked watching Crowley's eyes.

Which were now staring back at him reverently.

Aziraphale shook his head, he must have been zoning out again. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Run that by me again?”

Crowley opened his mouth like he was going to say something of importance but just took a sharp breath. “N-Nothing. I didn’t ask anythin’ I was just y’know-”

He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head as he turned to being pacing again. And he would've been successful if he had not stubbed his toe immediately. He grumbled out several curses, making Aziraphale grimace.

“Agh, blasted-” Crowley was about to curse the culprit before he saw what it actually was. “Oh hey, I didn’t know you still had this.”

Aziraphale turned his head back to be met with the image of Crowley standing in front of his piano, head cocked to one side. A rush of panic went through Aziraphale, and he tried to come up with an excuse to divert the demon’s attention from it. Unfortunately, his drunk mind wasn’t allowing it.

“Oh, yes. Well. You know how I like my. Things.” Admittedly, it wasn’t the worst thing he could come up with.

Crowley let out a joyful cackle as he turned back to Aziraphale. His smile was devious, and Aziraphale knew that he was in trouble.

“I remember when you got that and all you played was Fur Elise. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but that’s all you played! I thought to myself, oh great here’s another thing that he’s gonna hold onto forever.” He nervously chuckled. Crowley took a swig of his wine and stumbled closer to Aziraphale.

“Play it again, it’s been a while. That is, if you still remember how it goes.”

Aziraphale squirmed in his seat. If angels could sweat, he would be pouring buckets right now. “I-I really shouldn’t.”

Crowley threw his hands out and came on centimeter from losing his balance. “Ah, c’mon angel! Play it for me for old time’s sake, would you?”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley’s swaying body. He looked at his five o’clock shadow that had appeared over the past few days, stubble peppering his upper lip. He looked at the snakeskin shoes that had a heel slightly higher than the average dress shoe. He looked at his fingers tracing the wine bottle in his hand ever so gently. He looked at his eyes that yearned so much for something that was far too out of reach. He looked at Crowley and he heard it. He must’ve been staring again because Crowley had graciously interrupted his internal crisis.

“Okay listen, if you’re nervous I’ll just sit here with my back to you and listen. I won’t even watch!” He plopped down on the sofa adjacent to Aziraphale and sat in the way Crowley sat in all chairs. His head rolled over to his shoulder, glazed yellow eyes pleading once more.

Aziraphale promptly sobered up. He kept enough wine in him to give himself enough courage to finally do what he was about to do, and he stood up. Crowley let out a triumphant laugh as Aziraphale passed him, taking another long swing from his bottle. All the way over to the bench, he could feel Crowley’s presence grow stronger. Nothing had changed with Crowley himself, but Aziraphale could feel all the memories that he shared with the demon in his soul. He felt the curious new sensation of comradely from The Gate. He felt the reservation of all those times Crowley openly spoke with him about the Almighty knowing that Aziraphale couldn’t participate. He felt the sense of acquaintanceship when they shook hands on the Arrangement. He felt that sense slowly growing into friendship. He felt the concealed excitement of Crowley turning up in placed he hadn’t expected. He felt the shock and horror of reading two scribbled words on a small piece of paper. He felt relief of hearing feet hop around a church isle. He felt realization. He felt guilt. He felt rejection. He felt starting anew. He felt familiarity.

He felt Crowley.

And so, without a word, Aziraphale sat down and played.

_ B flat _

_F _

_B flat up an octave _

_D_

_ A _

_F sharp _

He heard Crowley slowly sit up straight on the couch. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see several wine bottles fill themselves back up. Aziraphale couldn’t face that just yet, so he turned his full attention back to the song. He willed his fingers to pour six thousand years' worth of emotions into the keys. Aziraphale had always been afraid of someone listening to what he was saying, afraid that he might have to pay the price for his words. Or worse, someone else would have to. If he had known that making music like this could make feelings so well understood, perhaps he would have done it eons ago. But then again, Queen had only been around the last half of the century.

Halfway through the song, he heard Crowley turn around on the sofa. Aziraphale stifled a chuckle._ It’s not like you to go back on your promises_, he thought. Neverthless, he kept playing. Oh, how he did wish the entire song was as melodic as the first bit. Perhaps he would have more time to prepare for how this situation was going to go after the fact. He softened the melody as the song reached its end, and Aziraphale made sure to phrase it as a question. He wasn’t sure what question, however. Maybe, “What are your thoughts?” or, “Have you known?” better yet, “How long have you known?” or horribly, “Was that too much?” but perhaps most of all, “Do you feel the same way?”

He brought his hands down from the keys and placed them onto his lap. He took a deep breath (even though he didn’t really need it, but oh lord, did he need it now) before turning to face his fear. He flitted his eyes to Crowley, who was sitting backwards on the safe with his arms crossed on the top of the cushion, his head resting softly on them. His eyes were glazed over, like he had forgotten to blink for a while and his lips were parted slightly in awe.

He looked so bittersweet.

Aziraphale, convinced that he had ruined everything was about to apologize feverishly and then lock himself in one of the bookshop’s unused rooms, perhaps the bathroom, if it wouldn’t be too cliché. He was ready to hide away and prepare himself for Crowley never coming around the bookshop again, never going out to lunch, never feeding the ducks or whatever mundane activity that they had chosen to indulge in that day. He was ready to return the record that he had bought so many years ago, if the shop still existed.

Wordlessly, Crowley got up from the sofa, and walked over to the bench.

His eyes never left Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale tried desperately to search them for whatever Crowley might be thinking, but Crowley seemed to be doing the same thing. Crowley turned the corner of the bench and lowered himself down on it, making Aziraphale scoot over without even asking. His glassy yellow eyes were still locked onto Aziraphale’s as he inched closer to the angel’s face. Aziraphale’s heart jumped when he could feel the rough denim material of Crowley’s pant leg press against his thigh, remarking on how this was the closest that they had been to one another in a long time. Crowley’s intense gaze had still refused to lift. He wondered how long that this would last. Would they sit like this for a decade before one of them decided to finally have the courage to say something? Would they break away and continue their dance for another six thousand years? Aziraphale considered playing the song again. Dear Lord Above, why won’t Crowley stop staring and say something.

And that’s when it dawned on him. He was staring into Aziraphale’s soul.

Aziraphale’s soul radiated every form of yes to Crowley. _Yes, I know. Yes, I have. Yes, I do. Yes, I always will. Si. Oui. Da. Hai. Ja. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. _

Suddenly, Crowley was even closer. His copper red hair mixed in with Aziraphale’s white curls as the tips of their noses touched. Crowley’s hands cupped Aziraphale’s jaw so tenderly, as if the angel might shatter into pieces if he wasn’t too careful (and maybe he could) and Aziraphale’s hands instinctively placed themselves on Crowley’s back, just under the demon’s arms. Aziraphale felt lightheaded as every shaking breath he took in was full of Crowley. The faint scent of cinnamon and sulfur mixed in with the designer cologne Crowley was so keen on wearing filled his sense of smell and Aziraphale wished that the humans could have the luxury of breathing this in instead of oxygen. Crowley’s eyes were half lidded and it seemed like he was taking in everything in about the angel as well, when he suddenly paused and opened them up wide again.

_“Play it again, please.” _

Aziraphale breathed out and smiled. He could feel the tips Crowley’s fingertips delicately playing with his hair. “You know, you don’t have to tempt me. You. Wily old serpent.”

Crowley smirked in the way that only Crowley does.

“I know that.”

Just like that, six thousand years of pent up love washed over Aziraphale. It emitted from Crowley in waves, crashing over one after another. Aziraphale shuddered against Crowley, clearly overwhelmed but in the best way possible. Crowley removed one hand from Aziraphale’s face to his waist to steady him before Aziraphale could fall over the piano bench. Aziraphale’s hands tightened around the fabric of Crowley’s shirt, pulling him closer after deciding that the he needed to share this amazing feeling with the wonderful being responsible for it.

His lips captured Crowley’s, and he swore he heard something of a sob escape them both. A burning hot glow ignited their chests as they feverishly kissed one another, the divine and infernal power between them practically exploding between them. Crowley received all the love that Aziraphale was pouring into him, and too became overwhelmed. They exchanged thousands of years' worth of want, need, love, lust, trust, and pure emotion in their kiss until finally, they broke apart gasping. Their foreheads were touching as they kept their gaze down at their parted lips in disbelief. Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s long black eyelashes flutter against his cheek. They floated their heads up to reconvene with the world around them once again.

For a moment, all they could do was blink at one another. Aziraphale could still hardly believed that it had happened and that they still existed. All the fear and guilt melted away in Crowley’s eyes when he finally broke the silence with a laugh. Crowley didn’t smirk, sarcastically smile, or aggressively frown. He genuinely, unapologeticly, smiled. Aziraphale was once again reminded that the fallen angels the most beautiful in all of Heaven. He giggled with Crowley shortly before the untangled from one another.

“Now will you play it again?” Crowley teased.

Aziraphale beamed. “Whenever you wish to hear it, my dear.”

Crowley breathed a laugh and rested his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder placing a kiss there as he got comfortable, his long arms circling his waist as Aziraphale brought his hands back up to the keys. Aziraphale played as lovingly and as endearingly as he had before, as assurance to himself and his partner that this was real, and it was here to stay for as long as they would.

Crowley hummed along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well guys that's all! i really enjoyed writing this, it brought me out of a creative slump that i've been trapped in for a long time now and i'm so happy i get to share it with all of you. :') i hope you all enjoyed and please!!!! feel free to leave a comment!!! i read all of them and really appreciate it :)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading and enjoying! feel free to comment on what you think so far! updates will be coming soon :)


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